


An Attempt To Level Up To Newlywed Status

by Ealasaid



Category: Homestuck, Problem Sleuth (Webcomic)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-11-16
Updated: 2011-11-16
Packaged: 2017-10-26 03:38:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,699
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/278258
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ealasaid/pseuds/Ealasaid
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The ice sculpture never saw it coming.</p>
            </blockquote>





	An Attempt To Level Up To Newlywed Status

**Author's Note:**

  * For [lucky_spike](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lucky_spike/gifts), [sannam](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=sannam).



The telephone rang at five in the morning, jolting the occupants of the apartment into unhappy wakefulness. Pickle Inspector sat up on the bed and blinked owlishly at his sleeping husband/partner for life/boyfriend-for-ever mobster who, it appeared, had absolutely no intention to get up and answer it.

“Should I get that?” he asked timidly as the phone rang shrilly again.

Diamonds Droog had managed to bury himself under both his and Inspector’s pillows. “Fuck no,” he grumbled from underneath a few layers of goose down, barely audible over the electric scream. “I just got in. Slick can whine about his pre-wedding jitters after I get some sleep.”

“Oh,” Inspector said.

Droog reached out blindly and pulled the bony Inspector back down into the bed and curled his long body around the other man as the phone fell silent.

 _…RING RING RING RING RING RING RING RING RING RING RING._

“ _GODDAMNIT._ ”

Inspector watched with some trepidation as the mobster exploded from the pillow tunnel and stalked off into the kitchen.

*******

Your name is SPADES SLICK and you are FREAKING THE FUCK OUT.

Someone thought it would be a great idea for you to get married. Actually, that someone may or may not have been you at three thirty a.m. one night a few weeks ago at the hideout, talking to Boxcars—which in NO WAY should have translated into Boxcars excitedly planning everything before you realized what was happening. All you knew was he blackmailed a priest to provide a place for an actual service and contracted some caterer people at one of your casinos. You hadn’t even realized that it was an actual thing that was happening, and had gone on blissfully ignorant of how seriously Boxcars was taking this.

It was Sleuth who figured it out first—somehow he’d gotten information that one of the Midnight Crew had hauled a priest out of bed in the middle of the night just to demand a place for a wedding. He tracked down Boxcars and, upon hearing he was engaged to get married to Slick, tracked down his boyfriend.

“So I hear we’re getting married,” Sleuth said amiably one evening in a bar they met up at.

You stare at him. “What?”

“Boxcars is arranging everything. That’s very nice of him,” the detective said judiciously, taking another sip of his single-malt. “Good to know you got someone with an eye for this sort of thing working on it.”

“What.”

“I  _am_  a little surprised you didn’t tell me before,” Sleuth said sternly, fixing you with a glare as you stare at him slack-jawed. “Not like I’m expecting you t’ get down on one knee or anything, but rings would’ve been nice.”

“What the  _fuck_  are you talking about?”

Sleuth looked at you affectionately. “It’s okay, I think it’s a great idea. I’m not going to leave you at the alter or anything.”

It’s about this time you began to hyperventilate, trying to scream out so many curses that you ran out of oxygen. Sleuth took you back to his apartment instead and ended up extracting the whole story from you over several bottles of wine, whereupon he declared it sounded like a fine idea and you had a much more optimistic outlook on the whole thing.

But that was a week ago and in your non-inebriated state you feel like it is all a very, very bad idea.

===> CALL DIAMONDS DROOG

You have been, several times a day at any time when you feel like you’re going to scream (which you do quite often these days. If Sleuth were here, he’d kindly hand you a pillow). It is at the point where Droog doesn’t even answer your calls anymore.

===> CALL HIM ANYWAY

You do this for fifteen minutes at five in the morning. He finally answers, quietly tells you you can talk to him tomorrow, and hangs up.

===> FOR THE LOVE OF GPI, NOOOOOOO

You call again only to find he has disconnected his phone.

(Elsewhere in the city, an irate mobster forcibly cuddles with his detective husband under a veritable mountain of pillows.)

Instead of calling someone else, you whimper and pour yourself a stiff drink. Three stiff drinks later, things are looking up. Then you remember you’re supposed to get married in two days and you wind up driving over to Sleuth’s apartment and wake him up by screaming at him.

*******

Your name is CLUBS DEUCE and your boss is getting MARRIED today and you are SO EXCITED BY THIS. You’ve been helping you best friend HEARTS BOXCARS to organize the wedding and it is going to be so amazing you can’t even put it into words, literally!

The ceremony is super simple because Droog intervened in Boxcars’s huge plans and said all they needed was some quick words spoken and also there was something about keeping it real quiet so the Felt didn’t bust in on the occasion or anything, which was kind of sad for a bit but then Boxcars decided to have a fun reception instead so that should make up for it! Right now Slick is standing with Sleuth up at the front and you and the rest of the Crew and those other detectives from Team Sleuth and also those two really nice ladies that Team Sleuth knows. It looks like Slick is having a little trouble staying in one spot, but Droog is being a good best man and holds him in place while the priest looks really uncomfortable and keeps talking about stuff like never killing each other and being a good couple and stuff. Sleuth keeps rolling his eyes which you think is weird, but he says all those cool vows after Slick slurs them out so you guess it’s okay!

For the reception Boxcars booked a private room in one of your casinos and made sure they knew to send in ONLY the MOST DELICIOUS FOOD CONCIEVABLE, and also an ICE SCULPTURE because ICE SCULPTURES are the epitome of class. Or at least that’s what Boxcars said! It’s still a pretty small party but everyone seems to be having a good time. Boxcars keeps bawling over how romantic it all is, and he’s already soaked through several napkins!

===> BE THE CRYING MAN

B’AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAWOOOOOOHOOOOOOOOHOOOOOOOOOOOOHOOOOOOOOOOOOHOOOOOOOOO THIS IS SO ROMANTIC I NEVER THOUGHT I’D LIVE TO SEE THE DAY WHEN SLICK FOUND TRUE LOVE AWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWOOOOOOOOOOOOHOOOOOOOOOOOOOOHOOOOOOOOOOOOOOHOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

===> STOP BEING THE CRYING MAN

Crying? Fuck no. You’re DIAMONDS DROOG and you never cry. You do, however, wish you weren’t Slick’s best man at this wedding. You wonder why Sleuth and Slick didn’t have the sense to simply elope, like you and the Pickle Inspector. You certainly wouldn’t have to keep surreptitiously pouring out Slick’s drinks before he has the chance to go from smashed to dying of alcohol poisoning. All you want is a box of cigarettes and to be having a private tea party with your husband instead of being at this ridiculous farce.

===> EYE PICKLE INSPECTOR LONGINGLY FROM ACROSS THE ROOM

You have never looked at something with longing ever before in your life, but you are coming very close to it as you watch Inspector oogle the ice sculpture.

===> SAVE THE WEDDING RECEPTION

That’s impossible at this point. However, you do tell Sleuth that now would be a very good time for he and Slick to abscond while everyone else enjoys delicious food. He eyes Ace Dick and Hearts Boxcars sobbing in a corner over Dick’s collection of photos of Sonhearst and Hysterical Dame and Nervous Broad’s giggly drinking game by the open bar and sighs, thanking you for the advice. You hope he knows it wasn’t advice.

===> BE THE NEWLY-WEDDED PROBLEM SLEUTH

You are the NEWLY-WEDDED PROBLEM SLEUTH and you are currently strategizing how to get your new husband home without him pitching a fit. He’s currently engaging in fisticuffs for a bottle of scotch with Droog, who is doing his damndest to curtail Slick’s drinking. Seeing his current obsession with alcohol, you snag the bottle from the both of them and lure Slick into a car outside without anyone noticing you’ve left except for Droog, who looks like he’s caught between disgust and approval at your cunning method of cooperative kidnapping.

Through many LONG AND CONFUSING MASH BUTTON SEQUENCES you manage to haul Slick up some stairs and into one of his MANY APARTMENTS. He has been exceptionally clingy through the latter part of the journey and is now wrapped like one of those stupid koalas around your leg. What do you do?

===> ROMANTICALLY CONJUGATE TO SEAL NUPTIALS

This is impossible! Slick is currently too trashed for anything involving that degree of emotional complexity, and also he’s still inhibiting your movement with his impression of a koala. The best you can do his strip him out of his rumpled tux and curl up with him on the bed where he whines until you kiss him to shut him up.

===> JUST PITCH WOO DAMN IT

That is still possible, as Slick proves by insistently demanding more of your attention in other aspects of bed relations. You proceed to engage in hot, drunken, newlywed whoopee that the audience doesn’t get to see because it’s your wedding night, goddamnit.

*******

You are DIAMONDS DROOG and you REALLY. HATE. WEDDINGS.

“I hate weddings,” you growl over a cigarette and a glass of gin to the Inspector, who has come to sit next to you after he lost his disconcerting oogle with the ice swan. He begins to stammer an apology and look horrified because getting married is precisely what you did a few months ago. You would engage in a lecture on how eloping is not the same as a wedding planned by Boxcars, but the idea of being forced to converse on the topic just makes you grind the butt of your cigarette to shreds. You proceed to take Pickle Inspector home from the drunken reception party and take out your frustrations in such a way that he stops nervously stammering the word “sorry” and instead can barely dazedly string a coherent sentence together.

*******

===> BE THE RECEPTION ROOM

WHAT ARE YOU ALL DOING

NO STOP

 **STOP**

 **  
_NOOOOOOOOOOO, NOT THE ICE SCULPTURE_   
**


End file.
